


Relax

by leiascully



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Pampering, X-Files OctoberFicFest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-22 09:51:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8281594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: "Sit back, relax, and enjoy your quarter 'til Valentine's pampering, Scully," he told her.  "And if you need any help undressing, I'm here for you."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: pre-IWTB  
> A/N: For perplexistan.  
> Disclaimer: _The X-Files_ and all related characters are the property of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Studios. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

It was one of the first cold nights of the season, the kind of evening that made Scully believe in October. The air was crystal clear as she drove home. Her headlights limned the trees with silver as she jounced down the road. There were times she loved living in the country. Her commute home never seemed to be one of them. 

Going through residency in her early twenties had been harrowing. In her forties, it was excruciating. She had forgotten it was possible to be this tired. At least the rutted road kept her from having the possibility of falling asleep.

She tried the door. It was locked. She had had to teach Mulder to lock the door, out here in the country. Tonight she regretted a little that he'd learned his lesson, as she fumbled her keys out of her bag. Her fingers were cold; her feet were cold; the tip of her nose was cold. She had been trying to avoid turning on the heat, but maybe she could talk Mulder into a fire. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and finally managed to get the door open. Warmth wafted past her, carrying the smell of onions and celery. She stepped, wondering, into the cozy golden light in the living room and shrugged off her coat.

"Hey, Scully," Mulder said from the kitchen. He was wearing an Oxford sweatshirt that seemed to be dusted with flour and holding a rolling pin. He set the pin down with a solid thump and sauntered toward her. She tipped her face up for a soft kiss. She slipped her arms around his neck, but he disentangled himself gently.

"Later," he said, taking her bag and setting it on the couch. "Right now, you need to go to the bathroom."

"I don't think I do," she told him, but she let him nudge her gently toward the bathroom. She could hear water running. The door swung open on a cloud of lavender-scented steam. The tub appeared to be three-quarters full of bubbles; the mirrors were fogged. Mulder hung over her shoulder; she could almost hear him grinning.

"I picked up some of those bubble things the last time we were in DC," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear in half-a-kiss. "I turned on the water when I saw your headlights. Slide in and soak a while, Scully. Pot pie will be another hour."

She turned in his arms. "Mulder," she said helplessly, "thank you."

He buried his face in her neck, enveloping her in one of the hugs that made her forget there was anything or anyone else in the world. They should be a controlled substance, she thought. Schedule One. She had been healed by his hugs before, and shattered by them. Tonight, it was exactly what she wanted. 

"You're welcome," he said, his voice muffled against her neck. "I just thought you might be tired."

"Very tired," she said.

"A wise person once told me that it was better to express your love through bubble baths rather than flowers," he said, leaning back to look at her.

"Was it Skinner?" she asked, deadpan.

He chuckled. "Sit back, relax, and enjoy your quarter 'til Valentine's pampering, Scully," he told her. "And if you need any help undressing, I'm here for you." 

She smirked. "I think I've got a handle on that."

"I respect that," he said with a wink. "I'll get back to the kitchen."

She watched him swagger away, closing the door behind him. It took all the rest of her energy to tug off her scrubs and slide into the tub. Her current book-in-progress was sitting next to the tub along with a glass of water. 

"God, I love you," she said to the steamy air, and turned off the taps. She eased herself through the thick layer of frothy bubbles into the water, which was hot enough to make her extremities tingle. There were moments now when she felt like they had the normal, perfect life she'd dreamed of when she was younger, but phase-shifted into something approaching reality. She hadn't known herself then, not the way she did now. She hadn't known what she needed her life to be: here, in this unremarkable house, with this wholly remarkable man. She drifted in the water, letting it support and thaw her, until she felt like her edges were blending quietly into the universe, the boundaries between things dissolving. 

Mulder knocked after a while and brought her towels and a robe, all warm from the dryer. She stepped out of the tub and let him wrap her up. 

"What kind of pot pie?" she asked.

"Chicken," he said. "With white beans and homemade crust."

"Butter or shortening?" she asked.

"So much butter," he promised.

She leaned against him. "Dessert?"

"Cobbler," he said. "Blackberry. The last of the berries we picked in the woods that time, when I almost fell into that patch of poison ivy. The ice cream isn't homemade, but it's local."

"I love you," she said.

"I know," he said. "Good butter is always the way to a woman's heart."

She laughed. "Had to have your Han Solo moment?"

He grinned and leaned down to kiss her.

"Go dry off," he said. "I left you clean pajamas on the bed. By the time you come down, everything will be ready."

"Thank you," she said. "This is exactly what I needed."

"I know," he said, kissing her forehead. "I'm a nice man."

"Yeah," she said. "Sometimes you really are."


End file.
